And the mystery of each glaring
Flower o’erwhelm with wonder dim;—
We, who see all things preparing
Some Great Spirit’s world for him!
Under pomps and splendid glamour
Of the night skies limitless;
Through the weird and growing clamour
Of the swaying wilderness;
Through each shock of sound that shivers
The serene palms to their height,
By white rolling tongues of rivers
Launched with foam athwart the night;
Lost and safe amid such wonders,
We prolong our human bliss;
Drown the terrors of the thunders
In the rapture of our kiss.
By some moon-haunted savanna,
In thick scented mid-air bowers
Draped about with some liana,
O what passionate nights are ours!
O’er our heads the squadron dances
Of the fire-fly wheel and poise;
And dim phantoms charm our trances,
And link’d dreams prolong our joys—
Till around us creeps the early
Sweet discordance of the dawn,
And the moonlight pales, and pearly
Haloes settle round the morn;
And from remnants of the hoary
Mists, where now the sunshine glows,
Starts at length in crimson glory
Some bright flock of flamingoes.
———
O that land where the suns linger
And the passion-flowers grow
Is the land for me the Singer:
There I made me, years ago,
Many a golden habitation,
Full of things most fair to see;
And the fond imagination
Of my heart dwells there with me.
Now, farewell, all shameful sorrow!
Farewell, troublous world of men!
I shall meet you on some morrow,
But forget you quite till then.